


adjustment

by myosotises



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Before Rise of the Titans, Canon Compliant, Comfort, Dealing with issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone on this show deserves to sleep, F/M, Fluff, Identity Issues, Ignore Strickler's absence though I didn't know how to work him in, Insecurity, It's just discussing jim being human again since the show didn't want to give me that, Jim is Adjusting, Light Angst, Mentions of troll jim, Post Wizards, Post-Canon, Post-Finale, Really just don't know what to tag this with, Romance, Self-Doubt, Still don't know how to tag correctly, hopefully, ish, naps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26229283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myosotises/pseuds/myosotises
Summary: He should be happy. He is—he thinks. After all, being human again is an idea he’s entertained for what seems like an endless number of nights, when he’s trying to sleep—like he is now—but he’s stuck being homesick, longing for his bed and his room, the creak of the floorboards and the groan of the stairs, and above it all, the sound of his mom’s footsteps around the house.Jim adjusts to being human again (with a little help).
Relationships: Jim Lake Jr./Claire Nuñez
Comments: 7
Kudos: 81





	adjustment

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't consider myself to be an avid fan of the show or anything, but I wanted to write something after the ending of Wizards. If you read the tags, yes I'm mad they don't touch the subject of Jim becoming human again with no explanation and he doesn't even seem to care all that much.

It’s weird not to be a troll anymore.

As Jim lies down on his bed, Claire asleep beside him, it’s all he can think about. He’d _prefer_ not to be thinking at all, to follow his girlfriend’s example and just _rest_ , but the thought rattles around in his brain, insistent every time his eyes fall closed.

It’s weird not to be a troll anymore.

He should be happy. He is—he thinks. After all, being human again is an idea he’s entertained for what seems like an endless number of nights, when he’s trying to sleep—like he is now—but he’s stuck being homesick, longing for his bed and his room, the creak of the floorboards and the groan of the stairs, and above it all, the sound of his mom’s footsteps around the house.

 _“Mom?” he’d started, as he’d walked in tentatively through the front door, Claire right behind him with a smile. His mother’s glasses had clattered to the floor as she’d stared at them, at_ him _, almost forgetting that she’d even been cleaning them._

 _“_ Jim _?” she whispered, and rubbed her eyes as if she were dreaming, before startling as she realized where her glasses were. When she’d put them back on, he was already running forward to give her a hug, one that lasted for several minutes._

_“Mom,” he said again, “I’m home.”_

_“Yes,” she agreed quietly, squeezing him tight like she used to do when he was a kid. “Yes, you are.”_

Maybe it should’ve been easier to return to being human after he’d thought about it for so long. But it feels like the opposite—more like a bucket of ice water dumped over him instead. Ever since he’d used the elixir—and even before—he’d been _told_ again and again; there was no going back. So he’d accepted it. Accepted the new form—this new version of him that didn’t quite feel like _him_ anymore, accepted the amplified senses and the enhanced reflexes and the increased agility, accepted the different food he’d eat and the loss of sunlight and the fact that his old _normal_ life—as normal as it could be—was gone. Accepted that this was who he was now.

And he learned to adjust.

But now he was human again, something that even Merlin apparently hadn’t known could happen. He was human after thinking he would never be human again and he doesn’t know how to react. How to adjust. _Again_.

It’s weird not to be a troll anymore.

Still, as Claire mutters some nonsense in her sleep, shifting slightly in his arms, his mind keeps turning. It’s weird, he won’t deny it, but this is nice too. To hold her in his arms, something he’s done many times now—but he’d almost forgotten what it’s like as a human. When there’s no Trollhunter armour between them and he feels shorter and leaner but it doesn’t matter because they still fit together like they always do—like maybe they fit even better.

It’s nice; to have her right in front of him with no imminent danger, and he has the time to look at her, _really_ look at her and just be grateful for her. Claire Nuñez, with her quick smile and her sharp mind and her unwavering faith in the good parts of life. With her eyelashes casting shadows above her cheeks and her freckles dotting her skin like stars and her soft hum as she leans closer to him. With her brilliant white streak of hair still damp from the shower and her armour replaced by one of his old shirts and her low, rhythmic breaths as she sleeps.

Claire Nuñez, the girl he can’t believe is real sometimes. That he has the privilege of loving her.

And Claire Nuñez, who opens her eyes as if sensing his gaze, and gives him the most affectionate smile possible.

“Not tired?” she murmurs, pressing her head again to his chest, right above where the amulet would rest if he still had it. If it still existed. And, he realizes, where his heart is, as she listens to his heartbeat.

He musters a dry laugh, the sound weary even to him. “Very,” he corrects.

“Why aren’t you sleeping then?” she says, and her voice is muffled like she’s about to fall back asleep any minute. “Your mom won’t be back from her shift yet.”

_“I—I have—I was going to work today,” his mother rambled, still holding onto him. “I should call in and tell them I’m sick or something—”_

_“It’s okay, Mom,” he said, looking up at her with a drained smile. “We were gonna shower or something, then like, pass out.”_

_Her eyebrows flicked up in bewilderment as her eyes moved to Claire, leaning against the stairs in equal exhaustion. She rallied up a smile—just as spent as Jim’s—at Barbara’s glance, but his mom seemed to understand._

_“You sure, kiddo?” she asked, brushing the ends of his hair away from his face gingerly. “I’m sure they can miss me for one day.”_

_He had to take a moment to breathe—the gesture from his mother was familiar, but it’d been so_ long _—“We’ll talk tonight,” he promised, pulling her into another hug. “When we wake up. There’s…a lot to talk about. But we’re just gonna sleep first.”_

 _“Okay, uh, call me if you need anything, okay?_ Anything _,” she said, staring at him._

_“Got it, thanks, Mom. I love you.”_

_“I love you too, Jim.” She crushed him in an embrace one last time, before shooing them up the stairs. “Get some rest, both of you. I want to know what’s going on, and I think your parents will too, Claire. I mean, what was with that giant castle falling from the sky?”_

“I know. I’m just, I don’t know, trying to wrap my head around everything?” he says, trying to put the stray thoughts in his head into words. He raises his right hand, studying the non-blue tint to the skin, the fifth finger that had reappeared. “Around _this_?”

Claire tilts her head to watch him, listening. “Do you miss it?”

“I miss…” he trails off, finding a way to phrase it all, “I miss feeling strong. Like I could protect my friends, my mom. _You_. I’m not strong, or tough, or fast anymore—I can’t jump over trees anymore, or outrun you and your portals, or hear footsteps from far away. I’m just… _me_ again.” The words pour out of him, like water in a flooded river. “I’m me and I’m weak and I’m normal and I’m _human_ and it’s weird.”

“ _Hey_.” She’s still staring at him, as her fingers dance up his arm and wind up behind the nape of his neck. “I can’t...I can’t make it less _weird_ or help you get used to being human, but I can tell you this: you are _not_ weak, Jim Lake Junior. I loved you no matter what the outside of you looked like, because that wasn’t what was important. Whether you have horns and pointy ears or not, you are still you. You are still brave and smart and kind and selfless and caring and so _stupidly_ heroic, because whatever spells are put on you, you’re Jim. My Jim.”

“But what if I’m not the same Jim anymore? If I’m different?”

“That doesn’t make you any less yourself,” she says, looking at him, into him. Her eyes are warm and brown—though there almost seem to be purple flecks at the edges, glowing like sparks in the dim light of his room and had those always been there? “You’re allowed to change, Jim. You’re allowed to grow.”

Without a second thought, he leans in to capture her lips with his own. It’s nothing more than the press of their mouths together, both of them too tired to do much more, but he hopes it conveys the whirl of emotions inside of him; worry, uncertainty, then gratitude, warmth, and above it all, the love he has for this wonderful, wonderful girl.

“Thank you for this,” he says, “For everything. I love you.”

“Love you too.” She smiles at him fondly, darting up to peck his lips again. “Whatever it takes, however long you need, I’m with you. We’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

“Okay.” He lifts a hand to touch a strand of white hair that had fallen out from behind her ear, but pulls back abruptly—there’s a ray of sunlight escaping through the smallest gap between the drawn curtains, slanting across the bed and Claire’s hair as she’d moved closer.

Claire watches him, her smile twisting almost sadly. “It’s okay to not be ready too. You aren’t less for it.”

She’s right of course, but Jim doesn’t get _why_ he’d flinched as soon as his fingertips had brushed the light. It shouldn’t hurt him. It won’t. And he knows that.

He can’t turn to stone when there isn’t any part of him—any troll in him—that can turn.

Even earlier, he’d been outside as the sun rose over Arcadia, and it had all been completely fine. Standing outside in the daylight had seemed normal—as normal as things could be, his life could be, when his town was practically under regular attacks.

But now, that instinct—the one that warns him of the sun, the one he’d listened to and trusted for months—gnaws at him. It makes him hesitate.

It’s weird not to be a troll anymore.

“Jim.” He glances at her. “I mean it. It’s okay. We can just sleep.”

“No, I…” He swallows, his throat a little dry. “I’m fine with it. I just…I wanna try.”

Her eyes are still studying him, but she doesn’t say anything else.

It’s weird not to be a troll anymore, to be human again. And yet, the sun isn’t a threat anymore, not to him. He doesn’t need to be scared of something humans experience every day.

He swipes through the ray of gold, dust motes swirling in the air as his fingers emerge past the other side, looking the exact same. Skin and bone, not rock. He’s fine. He’s more than fine.

Inhaling, he raises his whole palm this time, letting all of it pass over his hand. He catches the sunlight from landing on his bed and holds it there, suspended. Lets it trace the lines of his hands, gilding the edges and casting shadows across the planes.

It’s warm. He’s forgotten how the sun really feels on his skin—the short time he’d been outside hours ago paling in comparison, dawn had been soft and muted unlike now—this feels vibrant and real. As weird as it is to not be a troll anymore, he’s suddenly thankful that he gets to have this, the sensation of heat, _real_ heat. It chases away the ghost of night and dark and gloom and shadows, and he can’t believe he’d lost his memories of this.

As bright and glaring and harsh the sun could be at times, it’s always been a blinding reminder of how it feels to _live_.

He can live now.

No more fear—not from the sun at least. He can go out again, live a life that doesn’t include hiding in the day, _from_ the day.

A different hand, smaller and slimmer than his but with scars and calluses of its own, meets his in the sunlight. Claire’s fingers twine between his own and she squeezes his hand once.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, the word resounding through him. “More than okay.”

She offers him a smile, one that’s pleased, if tired. “I’m glad.”

Claire closes her eyes again and she props her head against his shoulder, her smile widening as their hands lower to rest on Jim’s chest, still laced together. He lets his eyes fall shut too, and his other arm curls back around her.

She makes a sound of contentment and he thinks it’d be nice to finally get some rest. “Goodnight Jim.”

“Night Claire,” he answers, his smile spreading across his face.

As he falls asleep, the thought returns, but it’s accompanied by another.

It’s still weird to not be a troll anymore.

But in time, it can be good too.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe this was a little out of character but that's okay I can't tell :) I've only watched this whole show including all three parts/series/whatever you want to call it in its entirety once. The fic feels a bit scattered to me since I didn't really start out with an idea in mind but if you made it here, let me know if you have any comments or thoughts!


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